Of Woes and Cooking
by W.H.WANG
Summary: No one in their right mind would let Ryou cook. Fubuki thought it'd be a great idea. An exercise and reintroduction to fandom.


**Author's Note: **It seems that my mind has wandered off the path and into the ditch. I recently found a list (pitiful thing, though it was) of fandom ideas that I had never gotten around to writing. This piece, I think, was written out of pure stubbornness more than anything else, really. I'm beginning to shift away from my ever-childhood obsession of _Yu-Gi-Oh! _and into other works. But the thought of leaving anything half-finished, unsettles me.

An exercise and a re-introduction into fandom.

_Of Woes and Cooking_

Wrapper crinkled as the package was flipped over and over. Ryou breathed lowly, "No directions." How could they expect for simply anyone to know how to prepare ramen?

He paused, considering. Oh, yes, he still very much recalled his previous attempt at cooking. It was a task that was 'so simple, even he couldn't possibly screw it up,' as Fubuki had so optimistically named it.

It had started with the task of thawing a package of vegetables.

It had ended with the microwave in flames.

He glanced at the water over the stove. The steam was rolling in small currents from the surface. It was a good sign, was it not? He deftly passed a hand over the rim, and felt his palm warm quickly.

"_Ryou_! Remember to remove the vegetables from mine!"

He felt his pulse tick in the side of his temple, and staved the few choice words on the tip of his tongue. "Is it of that much importance to you?"

There was a silence, and Ryou turned to look over his shoulder at his companion who lay sprawled on the couch with his hands tucked behind his head. Fubuki sat up and looked at Ryou, peering at him over the pillows with an indelicate scrutiny. Muttering an oath under his breath, Ryou slipped the foam cup from the wrapping. He removed the pot of water from the stove with such haste the water spilled over the sides and onto the heat of the stove, where it dissipated into a vapor just as hot. Cursing his own foolishness as the steam ran across his hand, he poured the water into the two cups of ramen and leaned away from the counter, his arms folded.

_I do believe I am to wait for it to boil properly, _he thought.

The noodles did not break apart.

His eyes narrowed into an aggravated glare, as though the heat of his gaze would somehow boil the contents quicker.

It didn't.

The minutes passed with a deliberate lethargy, and he felt the exasperation gather in the pit of his stomach, hot and heavy. Snatching up a pair of chopsticks, he poked at the recalcitrant bundles, and was met with hard resistance. Ryou stared dismally at the two cups. The kitchen was quiet save for the crackling of the last droplets of water on the stove.

Then, in a moment of ingenuity, even that disappeared. Ryou threw a sidelong glance to his right.

_The stove_.

* * *

Fubuki woke with a slight flinch. The couch depressed beside him as Ryou seated himself on the end, deck already in hand. Fubuki's eyebrows lifted a fraction.

"Done already? I would've thought it'd take you much longer."

"It was half an hour."

There was a slight pause. "I know."

The other turned to him with a withering glance. If Fubuki noticed, he did not react, and settled himself more deeply into the pillows. His eyes were beginning to shut -

And he jolted up with such energy that Ryou almost flinched. Almost.

"_Ryou_!" The alarm in his eyes was clear and he suddenly leaned intently forward, scrutinizing the unchanging face of the other, whose head did not turn to face him.

"What is it."

"The cups!"

"What is it?"

"_My _cup!"

"_Yes?_"

"Did you take the vegetables out?"

There then was a silence so absolute, so decidedly fixed that it seemed it did not want to be broken.

As though he thought Ryou did not clearly hear his question, Fubuki braced his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, curiously poking a finger at the vein pulsing in the side of his neck. "Ryou?"

The other's head suddenly turned to him. "Do you smell something?"

Fubuki glanced around as if scent were a tangible object. "No - ?" Then he smelt it. Hanging so hot and heavy and acrid in the air that he felt if he so chose to open his mouth, he would taste it on his tongue. The realization crushed Ryou like a ton of bricks, and he was up from the couch before Fubuki could manage his question.

* * *

There wasn't much to look at. There wasn't much _left _of the two foam cups to look at. The heated plate of the stove had worked at the the cups from the bottom up, and the bases has been melted to the point that the contents (still not quite cooked) spilled out in seared clumps of black and brown, showing little of what original color it had. As Ryou scraped the remains of what was once ramenfrom the surface of the stove, Fubuki watched him with a look like that of a professor, who had poured so much hope and so much effort into the education of his students, only to realize in the end that his pupils were mentally – _challenged_ – for lack of better terms.

"Why would you – I can't even – _Why?_"

He received no answer, only the dull grating of metal against metal as the last of the scorched crust was cleared. With one final distasteful look at the bright yellow packaging and the smiling carrots and peas on it, Ryou swept the remains away and into the trash bin, the lid closing with a soft thud.

And thus it was, Marufuji Ryou no longer handled any objects that approximated edibles or the preparation of said things. The two friends from then on ate meals solely within the safety of the Dining Hall, an arrangement to both their likings for the years to come. There was never again any complaints, and never again any fires started on the island of Duel Academy.

* * *

**Edits made on -**

_ February 24, 2013 - _a word of thanks to Etaleah, for her review and advice.


End file.
